


Rental

by peakgay



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Awkwardness, Beaches, Cockwarming, Couch Sex, Dirty Talk, Erectile Dysfunction Probably, Facials, Fisting mention, Kitchen Sex, M/M, Older Man/Younger Man, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Crying, Sex EVERYWHERE, Vacation, complicated adult emotions, emotional tension, spitting, stir crazy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-27 20:31:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6299284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peakgay/pseuds/peakgay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alex likes to stay busy - he doesn’t take vacation days. He likes paychecks and having his mind full of work. But George bought him a new TV a couple of months ago, even sent the guys to haul it into Alex’s basement and Alex sold the old one on Craigslist just to get rid of it. He doesn’t owe Eliza rent and his savings are actually building up - he can maybe, for once, take more than two days off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rental

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Poose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poose/gifts).
  * Inspired by [General Dynamics](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5950483) by [Poose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poose/pseuds/Poose). 



> thanks to @[Poose](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Poose/pseuds/Poose) for letting me play around with this 'verse, and for beta/reading for typos. Bless you. Thanks as well to @[gonfalonier](http://archiveofourown.org/users/gonfalonier/pseuds/gonfalonier) for pre-reading it as well! Also shout out to @[worldturtling](http://archiveofourown.org/users/worldturtling/pseuds/worldturtling) for the encouragement and support.
> 
> Mind the tags!

Alex meets George at the bar, like usual. It’s not the most subtle thing in the world, but after a while they become used to it and the patterns continue. It’s the first time George has called him in almost nine weeks, so Alex is quick to accept the offer, take on the free drinks. 

They end up in bed, they end up fucking, and Alex laughs. There’s not so much exchange of conversation, no special nuances, until they’re side by side, not touching, and George lets out one last breath and looks at him and says, “You have a free weekend coming up.”

It isn’t said with the tone of a question. Alex turns his head and shrugs. He’s stiff, sore, but fucked out. His skin tingles. The heavy curtains are drawn across the hotel windows and Alex only knows it’s two in the morning because of the alarm clock on the bedside table.

“Dunno,” he says. Lazy, uncommitted. George hums, but it’s closer to - Alex doesn’t know. It’s low and throaty. Ragged. Tired, maybe.

Alex rolls onto his side, away from George. His body kind of throbs, aches with regret. Thankfully the bruises are all in places he won’t have to hide.

He dozes off like that, only waking up when Washington brushes a hand over his shoulder when he gets out of bed to piss.

-

He ends up getting an e-mail from George about the question.

“God,” Alex says. He reads it on his phone, standing on the subway commuting into the city. It’s barely three lines long. _Rent a place on Oak Island in summer. Visit sometime. I’ll take you there. GW._

If it’s a gesture, the olive branch, Alex thinks it’s a pretty shitty one.

-

He requests a five day weekend in mid-September. He calculates it in his head - they met nearly two years ago. He makes some vague approximations; it was spring when they fucked for the first time, fall when they first met. It’s been a while. They don’t fuck regularly, not that they ever did. Occasionally they’ll dedicate a Saturday to George’s cock and Alex will have his ass and mouth worked to death and it’ll be like a cleanse. He picks up who can in the interim, but it’s never quite the same. 

Alex likes to stay busy - he doesn’t take vacation days. He likes paychecks and having his mind full of work. But George bought him a new TV a couple of months ago, even sent the guys to haul it into Alex’s basement and Alex sold the old one on Craigslist just to get rid of it. He doesn’t owe Eliza rent and his savings are actually building up - he can maybe, for once, take more than two days off. 

Eliza and Burr, their baby was almost a year old now. He had visited the other week. Eliza asked him to hold the kid, even though Burr protested. Burr didn’t trust him - Alex didn’t trust himself. He refused to hold the baby, even though Eliza pouted at him. He watched her breastfeed the kid instead, sat next to her on the couch because Eliza insisted, told him he was a good friend to Peggy and Angelica always said such nice things, that she wanted him in his life. It was too much, so he left with a hasty goodbye. 

He gets the days off and he tells George that he’ll go with him. He looks up the place based on the address - George texts that one. It’s got a balcony, three stories up. Rents for almost $400 a night, beachfront property, tucked into a little private corner away from the main beaches. Pale blue walls and a big-screen TV, a large kitchen with an island, stools, a minibar. It’s probably not the most expensive or nicest property on the beach, but Alex admires the photos.

The price doesn’t actually make Alex cringe; it’s not coming out of his paycheck. To Washington, that’s probably spare change. No worse than the D.C. hotels he splurges on. Alex hates the luxury rooms most of the time, and he’s pretty sure at this point that George also rents both rooms adjacent as well as directly across because he knows Alex can’t keep his voice down.

George shows up in a Dodge two blocks down the street. Alex throws his duffel bag into the back seat and then climbs in; it’s gotta be a rental, too sleek and clean and smelling of pine. He buckles his seatbelt, leans back on the padded leather seats, glances at the perfectly slick steering wheel, George’s hands.

“Hey,” he says, grinning.

Washington nods.

“Is that all you brought?” Washington looks over his shoulder at the bag on the back seat.

“It’s just for a few days,” Alex says instead of answering. He wasn’t going to pack a goddamn suitcase for a five day vacation. George doesn’t react.

“How’s work?” Alex says. He doesn’t really pay attention to which way they’re headed. George’s phone gives him directions from between their seats, lights up every time it says something.

“Work is fine.”

“Seen Lee recently?”

He can needle.

“I haven’t spoken to him, no.”

Alex already figured as much, but it didn’t hurt to hear it from the man himself. Alex had known the Lee shit wouldn’t last. Just a few months, someone pretentious and young and _fit_ to hang on George’s arm. Alex didn’t blame him; just thought it was useless to pretend it was anything more than a sham.

“Why now?” Alex says. He turns on the monitor in the center of the car and tunes the radio to classic rock. George’s mouth twitches.

“Why now, what?”

Alex waves a hand. “Vacation. Or, whatever.”

George is silent for a moment. Alex watches as they pass a gas station; disappear out of the city. Eventually. “When was the last time you took a break?”

Alex snorts. “More than a weekend?” he clarifies. George defines things strangely and does so often.

“More than two days, yes,” George says.

“Last summer.”

“Last summer?”

“Yeah.” Alex grins and leans back. “That was a good two weeks.”

“Was it.”

“Do you remember when I came back?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

George doesn’t say anything and Alex relaxes. Maybe he doesn’t remember; they’ve done this a lot. That was when this - the hookups and hotels and the meeting at the worst places and making the worst decisions - started to slow down. It meant to dip off, meant to disappear, but they kept running into each other.

“It was a good blowjob,” Alex says, turning his head. George tenses up and sighs. “See, I told you. Liar.”

“Yes, I recall,” is all George says, his voice flat.

After that, they drifted. It was fine. They sustained whatever this was and fucked other more beautiful people on the down-low. 

“Doesn’t answer my question,” Alex says. “I don’t take yearly vacations. Do you?”

“Not particularly.” They’ve been on the highway for a few minutes now. George is in the leftmost lane and Alex peers over at the pedometer. He drives dangerously fast, the needle hanging at a shaky 80 miles-per-hour. Alex doesn’t say anything about it.

“It’s only five days, right?” Doesn’t hurt to ask.

George nods. “What do you want to do?”

Alex sucks in a breath and then laughs to himself. George glares at him. “Sorry,” he says. George drops one hand onto the stick shift and Alex glances down then back up to the hand gripping the steering wheel. “I haven’t been on a vacation like this since….” He puts his tongue between his teeth and digs. “I was a kid,” he supplies. “Mom.”

“Your mom took you,” George says flatly.

“Once. She got a really good tax return, I think. We had the money to splurge, but…” He shrugs. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Alright.”

Alex notes - _not in the mood to talk about life_ \- which isn’t anything new for George, but they haven’t seen each other in a few weeks and it had seemed personal, there had been some reason he asked Alex here, there had to be.

Alex fidgets in the passenger seat and didn’t say anything else. The drive wasn’t too bad. Just silence.

-

George commits to carrying their bags up the flight of stairs. They had to check in at an office down the road and George said all of three words as they got out of the car in the spacious lot outside of the condos. Alex follows and shivers; it’s not exactly cold, not yet, but as summer fades and the sun sets, he gets sensitive again. The weather is supposed to be nice, though there’s rain forecasted. Alex checked.

The condo itself is almost exactly as Alex imagined. The kitchen is bigger with too much counter space. The microwave is tiny, there’s a toaster and a Keurig and even little pods for them to use. The photos on the walls and throughout the living room depict a wealthy looking white family, young with two kids. Alex snickers as he thinks about what they’re going to do to this goddamn condo.

He doesn’t have anything specific in mind, yet, but George always seems to.

“Hey,” Alex calls as he opens the balcony. “Shit. The ocean’s right there.”

“It’s a nice view,” George says, following him outside. He hands Alex a jacket. Alex doesn’t ask where he picked it from and pulls it on. It’s not familiar, though it fits him. He thinks, briefly, that it might not be one of his, but pulls the collar up anyway. George’s hand fits on the small of his back, warm and heavy. 

“You gonna fuck me on the beach?” Alex means it as a joke, turns so he’s leaning against the smooth wooden balcony. George just blanches and Alex laughs. “Fine, no sand in anyone’s ass.” He sort of leans forward and George slides his hands to his hips and then pulls him in close.

They kiss. Alex decides to enjoy this moment. He opens his mouth, curls his tongue against George’s. He’s dated bad kissers before and been able to write it off because they still fuck with vigor or give good head but George is, strangely enough, pretty good at kissing. Rough without being so aggressive Alex just thinks he’s gonna need dental service to fix his misplaced teeth. He bites and sucks on Alex’s bottom lip and Alex groans and tips his head back, humming and pressing their hips together.

“That’s it,” he hisses as George breaks them apart to sucks bruises down his neck. He’s been through this pattern again and again but now they’re leaning against the balcony and the ocean breeze just smells like _salt_ and Alex’s lungs are already heavy. He grinds and reaches to George’s cock in his trousers but George steps back, presses Alex back against the balcony and then turns, leaving him there.

Alex catches his breath and sighs before he follows George back inside.

“So, what are we doing?”

“We could go to dinner,” George says. “We’ll need to go shopping. Actually, I know a market that sells incredible shrimp.” George isn’t looking at him, sitting on the sofa, taking up too much space with his knees spread and his arms resting on the back of it. Alex’s dick is interested but the situation isn’t right. George frowns as he considers. “I’ll make you shrimp.”

-

George makes shrimp. Alex sits at the kitchen island and absently flicks to his phone as George puts shrimp in a pan with butter and lets it sizzle. Alex is thinking about renting a bike, finds a place on the island that isn’t a far bike that provides the service. It doesn’t matter if it’s for five days or one-hundred, Alex will die if he can’t leave this place. Sex won’t matter, he’ll be fidgety and off the wall and he’ll piss George and himself off to the point it’ll be unbearable. He might do that anyway, but.

It’s not as domestic as Alex kind of thought it would be when George sets a plate of shrimp and rice in front of him. At least he made rice, Alex thinks. He nibbles, and George barely eats.

That’s not new either, so Alex doesn’t comment. He drinks a glass of water from the sink. “It’s very fresh,” he says, gesturing at the shrimp left on his plate. “Put it in the fridge. Breakfast.”

George short of shakes his head and laughs, then leaves his plate on the counter. Alex pulls out a tupperware container, tucked away in one of the cabinets, and fills it with their leftovers. Rice in one and shrimp in the other. They can throw it out if they don’t eat it. He leaves it one of the refrigerator shelves.

“This is nice,” he says, leaning back against the counter. George stands up and looks at him for a moment. Alex is dirty, ugly and tired. He doesn’t like being scrutinized, even though something familiar shifts in him. His hair is long enough now that he can comfortably pull it into a bun and that’s how he usually wears it. Washington likes it down so he can guide Alex’s head; Alex likes that just fine, but - hair gets in the way.

“I don’t come here very often,” George says. “Admittedly, it gathers dust.”

“I’m sure the people who live here in the winter appreciate it.”

George grunts. “We’ve only met once or twice.”

“Of course,” Alex says. “That’s - yeah, sounds like you.”

Washington stares at him and then reaches over to pull his hair out. It falls limp against his shoulders. George pulls his fingers through it. Alex hasn’t washed his hair in three days but if George notices, he doesn’t say anything.

Until, “You should shower.”

“Yessir,” Alex says, shifting away. George presses his palm against the back of Alex’s neck and Alex turns. The bathroom is right across the hall from the master bedroom; there’s another bedroom, empty, on the other side of the house. Alex grabs a towel and closes the door, strips down naked and runs the water hot. There’s already soap, shampoo, and conditioner on the shelves. Alex washes thoroughly, lets the conditioner sit in his hair for a couple of minutes. He soaks under the hot water.

Not quite enough to relieve the tension in his shoulders. Eliza told him he should see a masseuse, or the chiropractor. He still hasn’t.

He gets out, towels off. His hair hangs wet on his shoulders and he squeezes out the excess water in the sink. He takes a moment to look at his naked self, the mirror long and wide enough to expose him to midthigh. He doesn’t have the muscle Washington has, not even close, but he’s figured that’s part of his charm now. His tummy stands out beneath his lean chest. He pinches it and shrugs. Skinny shoulders, he can still barely get away with suits without someone raising a questioning eyebrow, wondering if he’s really meant to fit into _that_. He likes the scar on his right hip from a biking accident downtown; motherfucker clipped him with a car door and knocked him straight into the curb. Better to get a lasting scrape there then brain damage. He hadn’t been wearing a helmet.

Alex presses his tongue into his cheek. His dick is fine. Workable. Dudes seem to be happy with it. Girls too, on occasion, but he thinks about that less. George has never complained and Alex hopes it stays that way. His thighs are thin. There are worse ways to be. George has called him gangly. He’s not tall enough to be gangly, not short enough to be anything else.

He’s procrastinating now. He steps out of the bathroom, naked and hair still dripping down his back and steps back into the kitchen. His heart is pounding. Why? He asks himself over and over again and never comes up with an appropriate answer. There isn’t one.

George stares at him, seated at the island in the middle of the kitchen. He turns to face Alex and says nothing.

He swallows. His stomach gives an uncomfortable churn and he’s grateful he didn’t eat much. He licks his lips, tips his head back, and tries to smile. 

He must be doing something right - George gets up and takes a couple swift, long steps to catch him by the hips. He drags Alex into the kitchen and Alex laughs before George presses his ass against the cold marble counter. Alex scrambles to hold onto the edges and George presses against him.

“How’s that?” Alex says, lifting his hips to press himself, however awkwardly, against George’s hip. George kisses him fast and hard and then turns him around with sudden power. Alex’s breath hitches and George grinds against him. All he can do is spread his thighs and hope it’s inviting instead of disgusting. George doesn’t seem to be thinking about it much either way, resting a palm flat on Alex’s thigh and pushing it up, his knee bumping into one of the cabinets.

“There you go, there you go, come on,” Alex babbles, licking his lips and panting. Now Washington is just rocking his hips, grinding his erection between Alex’s cheeks and holding him steady. “You gonna fuck me up or what?” Alex breathes, craning his neck and twisting to look at George. “Come on, old man, don’t _waste_ it.”

George isn’t as quick to anger as he is to annoyance, and he moves his right hand to the back of Alex’s neck. Alex gasps as George lowers him onto the counter, laying him flat against the cool surface. Then, almost as soon as it’s happened, George has stepped back and let Alex go.

Alex stays barely on his feet, clinging to the counter, his dick trapped. He could move. Washington would just push him down again, but that wouldn’t be a bad thing.

It only takes maybe twenty seconds for George to come back and there’s there’s the slick wetness of lube and Washington twisting two fingers inside of him. No preamble. Alex groans and closes his eyes.

“That’s it, fuck me, fuck me,” Alex says. His voice is already almost a croak, and he pushes back, moves George’s fingers inside of him. There’s no rhythm, it’s rough and fast and on the edge and then a third digit stretches him open and Alex can’t think of anything except George’s cock. He starts to push himself up, get more leverage, but Washington hauls his leg up and uses his entire free palm to get Alex flat again. Alex lets out a peal of laughter as he slams into the counter, gasping to catch his breath. 

“You asshole,” he hisses. “Get inside me, right the fuck now.”

George still doesn’t say anything. It’s a demand, not a question. Alex won’t ask. Alex knows he’ll get what he wants. He shuts his eyes, focuses completely on the tearing of the condom wrapper and then the press against his hole. There’s lube everywhere; Washington clearly has no more interest in waiting than Alex does. He grinds back and the head sinks in. From there on it’s easy; no rhythm but it’s easy, hard and methodical thrusts and hands on his hips. Alex realizes, as he’s breathing, lungs expanding and pushing him back from the counter, that this isn’t about him, not even a little.

He wraps a hand around his cock. It’s sloppy because George is being sloppy, fucking into him so roughly that Alex can barely stroke himself without pitching forward against the counter. He closes his eyes. Fine - so he’s being used right now. He’s been used before. Mouth stuffed full of cock just so Washington can come; in those little moments when George loses that goddamn self control, Alex knows, _really_ knows, that he’s the only person that makes George this way.

Alex is still jerking himself when George pulls him back by his hair. Alex doesn’t yelp, biting his bottom lip as he’s lifted off the counter. He leverages himself with one palm against the countertop and thinks, for a moment, that if George had the time and the patience and if he gave a shit, he could probably fuck his balls into Alex. At least one. Alex giggles.

“Shut up,” George growls, giving a sharp tug. He’s still fucking relentlessly, and now Alex can’t think of anything else except the heavy drag of George’s cock and then, oh God, the _slapping_. It’s disgusting. Alex’s mouth starts to water. He twists his wrist, flicks the head, gives a squeeze.

It hits him suddenly, rips through him - Washington’s hips stutter when Alex clenches around his dick and Alex nearly yells as he spends himself on the cabinets. George makes another hard noise that rips from his throat and then he’s straight up pounding Alex, keeping him pinned down just by the sheer force of his strength and Alex withers and relaxes his shoulders and waits.

Maybe it takes a minute, or three, Alex isn’t sure. George’s thrusts get faster before they get slow, and even though Alex can’t feel the pulsing, he can damn well imagine it. Fingers still clenched in his hair and then Washington draws back and Alex gasps and they’re separate.

“Jesus,” Alex breathes. “God. Call your doctor if you have an erection that lasts more than four hours.”

George laughs at that. By the time Alex gets upright, George has turned around, his back to Alex, but he looks perfectly dressed, his slacks neat, his cock away, the condom in the trash - that’s what Alex assumes, anyway.

George leaves him in the kitchen, naked. Alex grabs a paper towel and wipes down the cabinet he came on. He grimaces as he does it, but George pays a lot of money for this place. So whatever. If there’s one suspicious stain, they can fix it.

He follows George into the bedroom, tucks himself under the sheets next to him, still naked.

A weird first day.

-

Alex wakes up, groggily, at seven. He rolls onto his back and blinks at the ceiling for a minute before he realizes the spot on the bed next to him has been vacated. The pillow is cold, and so are the sheets. He rolls out of bed, takes a pair of sweatpants out of his duffle bag, and pads into the empty kitchen. There’s no food except leftover shrimp, so he doesn’t eat that. He heads out onto the balcony instead and watches the beach.

That’s fine, for a few minutes. He makes coffee with the Keurig, grabs one of the keys off the island, and leaves the condo. He locks the door behind him.

George’s car is gone.

Alright.

Alex checks his phone, but there’s no messages. Not that he expected there to be any. He fires off a text _where are you_ to the G.W. contact in his phone. He clicks his tongue and carries himself and his cup of coffee to the beach. He decides that watching the sunrise alone isn’t so bad, and it would have been awkward with Washington sitting with him anyway. There’s a man and a woman who walk across the sand holding hands, but Alex doesn’t see anyone else.

It’s pristine, for a beach. No dead fish and no plastic sand castle building toys that had been abandoned. Certainly better than Erie - shit, anything was better than Erie. The coffee was no good though, not strong enough, and he had no milk to add. He pressed his toes into cold sand, hated the beach, hated the sun for being so goddamn bright, and hated his coffee. He went back to the condo at quarter after eight and let himself in.

Washington was in the kitchen, putting away a couple of bags of groceries.

“Hey,” Alex says. He looks at his phone again, frowning. He has service. “You didn’t answer my…”

George looks at him. “Where were you?”

Alex frowns. “I went to the beach. You - went to Whole Foods?” Alex pulls a box of spaghetti out of a bag and chuckles. “This tonight’s romantic dinner?” he says.

George takes the box from him and stows it in the cabinet where Alex blew his load. “We’ll be here for a few days. We needed food.”

“Uh, I could have gone with you.”

George shakes his head.

“Shit. You could have at least let me write a list. Did you get any ice cream?”

George shrugs. “You were asleep. No ice cream,” he says.

“Shit,” Alex says again. He runs a hand through his hair and puts his coffee mug down. “What’s up? You’re being…” He trails off and George looks at him. “Well, you’re always like this.” He gestures, and George rolls his eyes. “Yeah, that. Emotionally distant. Not that I expect anything, but this is…even for you.”

George rolls his neck. “Because I didn’t want to wait for your spoiled ass to get out of bed to get food? Forgive me.” He picks up a hand and rests it, heavily, on Alex’s face. Alex knows that George can put power into his hands, knows that light, condescending touch could easily be a smack or a backhand. He flushes. _Spoiled_.

“Whatever,” he says. “Did you at least buy cereal?”

George picks up a box of off-brand Cheerios and waves it at Alex. “Your favorite,” he says. Alex takes the box and pours himself a bowl.

“Milk?”

“Refrigerator.”

“Thanks.” He sits at the island to eat and George moves into the living room, leaving empty plastic bags on the counter. Alex watches as George flicks through TV channels.

How fucking stupid.

-

Alex rents a bike the next day. He doesn’t exactly want to explore, but the thought of being cooped up in that condo for another three days with nothing but depraved sex acts to look forward to - it’s less interesting than he would have thought. The night before had been boring, more or less, just George blowing him and then rimming him. Two orgasms. Nice enough, and he had slept through the night and then, because they woke up with George’s morning wood pressed into the hollow of Alex’s hip, Alex had taken advantage and ridden him. Now he was tired and sore.

He still wanted to move. George didn’t share the sentiment, and spent a lot of time on the terrace, drinking coffee. He told Alex to take his card and charge the rental under that.

Three days was forty-five bucks. Alex gave the card to the woman and signed the receipt, and then he strolled out with a shitty bike. It would get him where he wanted to go.

Alex doesn’t know exactly where that is but he bikes anyway. Nearly an hour. His phone GPS tells him he’s eight miles from the condo. He turns around and makes it three miles before his side starts to cramp. He’s out of shape.

He calls George.

“Can you pick me up?”

“The hell are you?”

“I rented a bike,” he says.

George huffs a breath. “Send me your location,” he says. He sounds angry, but Alex finds it hard to care. It’s fifteen minutes later when George finds him on the curb, sucking on a popsicle he bought from a corner store.

“Can I put the bike in your trunk?” He grins as George grimaces.

“Go right ahead,” he says, and the trunk pops open. Alex is fairly careful when he arranges the bicycle in the back of George’s car, but it’s more out of respect for the rental than for George himself. He climbs into the front seat.

“No one knows who you are,” Alex says after a moment. “No one cares about us.”

George rolls his eyes. A new favorite avoidance tactic of his, Alex guesses. He flicks on the radio for the short drive home, but George immediately turns it off. 

“What?” Alex says, looking over at him. “What’s the point?”

“Just be quiet. Five minutes.”

Alex grins. “You want me to shut up, you gotta make me,” he says, and George looks at him with a raised eyebrow. It’s a challenge and it’s one he’s issued before - they both know where it ends. It’s not anything new or original.

George just shakes his head. Alex fidgets, but he doesn’t say anything else. Somehow it becomes hard. Harder to speak.

-

Alex squeezes George’s forearms. “What gym do you go to?”

“Shut the hell up,” George mutters, but Alex just keeps rubbing the muscle, pushing him back against the edge of the balcony.

“Once a week? Twice? C’mon. What’s your regimen? How do you fuck like a champion at - what? You’re comin’ on forty-five soon, aren’t you?” That earns him a glare. Alex grins, shows his teeth. It’s more submissive than he likes to be and he hates himself for a minute, just a fleeting, dark moment. He grabs George’s cock through his sweatpants. He hasn’t had a good moment with just George’s cock since they got here. He strokes through the fabric. “Hard already?”

George grips Alex’s jaw and Alex looks up through his eyelashes. He keeps rubbing his palm over George’s cock. “Want that in my mouth,” he says. He means it, could _ask_ instead, but like always, it’s easier to demand and to take. George just looks at him - if he’s contemplating, it’s probably something boring. Saliva wells up under Alex’s tongue and he swallows, tilts his head back so George can see his throat move and constrict. “How’s work?”

“Don’t ask me about _work_.”

“You all but ignored me.” He slips his hand into George’s underwear and grips his cock, gives it a hard squeeze. He gets further in and rolls his right testicle, his left. Squeezes those, too, then keeps playing. George’s expression doesn’t change, even though he’s rock hard. He’s solid, weighty. _Good_. “Barely fucking made eye contact at that bullshit meeting. You coulda fucked me after, I don’t know why you didn’t answer my text, God, put your dick in my mouth before I _die_.”

“You’re full of it, aren’t you?”

“Too fucking easy, old man. I’m not full of _enough_.” He whines as George’s grip tightens, squeezing his jaw shut. His teeth clench. It’s a good clench. He starts to jack George in earnest.

George pulls him down, by his jaw. Alex sinks to his knees. It hurts, and then he lets go, and Alex’s face throbs. Doesn’t exactly give him a fair start, but he takes it anyway, yanking George’s sweatpants down his thighs.

It’s dark. It’s late enough. Alex has had more public sex than _this_ , this barely counts. 

This is what he’s here for.

George’s cock fills out thick and pretty and Alex holds it, kisses the head, slips it into his mouth.

“Stay very still.”

Alex looks up. That’s new, at least, a little bit. George doesn’t care for waiting. He complains when Alex draws things out. Alex relaxes his throat and then George says, “Just open your mouth. Yes. That’s very pretty.” Alex hates his chest for jumping at that and shuts his eyes. It strains his jaw even further but he ignores it. George’s cock rests flat on his tongue. He waits for it to move, for George to just fuck his mouth, but he doesn’t. “Close.”

Alex rests so his lips seal around George’s cock. Not tight. A hand rests in his hair and strokes.

“Good girl.”

Alex gurgles and glares. He’s about to pull off but George holds him there, the head bumping the back of Alex’s throat. He’s not generally sensitive but he gags a little. George hushes him. 

“You heard me,” Washington says. There’s a low heat to his voice that’s mostly unfamiliar, and Alex wraps his arms around George’s thighs and shuffles in a little closer. It stretches his mouth. He’s already starting to drool a little.

George keeps him there. It’s fucking torture, being held almost completely still. His jaw aches and so does his tongue even though he’s not moving it. His legs are tired, his knees are throbbing. He sits mostly still though, only constricting his throat to swallow when it gets really fucking annoying. There’s not a lot of light, but he can see the thatch of pubic hair and he decides to focus on that. Washington can use him for dick wetting as long as he wants. Alex isn’t going to give him the satisfaction of complaining, of _asking_.

He swallows again.

It’s too fucking casual, George just leaning back against the terrace in the dim light, stroking lightly through Alex’s hair. Then George starts to talk, and that’s infuriating as hell.

“You love this. Pretend like you don’t all you want, but you keep coming back for more.” His hips twitch. Alex chokes a little bit but maintains his posture. He’s had worse. Alex glares up at George again. “You just want to be stuffed full of my cock. You’re never satisfied. The only time you shut your goddamn mouth is when you’re on your knees.”

Alex lets a low noise build in his throat. George sinks fingers into his hair and thrusts. 

“Even then, you want more. Even with my dick crammed down your throat…” Another thrust. Not quite a rhythm yet. Alex finds his balance again. He can let this happen; he can do this. “Yeah, you do look good. You know you look good. That’s how you get away with it. God, tight as hell.” Alex hums. George goes still. “Do you like this?”

Alex isn’t sure if he’s meant to answer. He stays perfectly still. George’s cock doesn’t move in his mouth and then there’s one hard roll of his hips and Alex moans.

“That’s what I thought.”

Alex grips the back of George’s thighs and doesn’t complain. It takes a little longer than Alex expects - perhaps George is wearing himself out, or maybe it’s just the build up of it. It’s perfect though, and yes, Alex likes it, loves it, depraved and used and wanted and George is hissing out praise, stuff about how beautiful he is, how lovely his mouth is, how wet and tight and slick he is, and Alex moans and lets it happen and then George pulls back just enough to shoot on Alex’s tongue once. Alex doesn’t swallow immediately and George pulls his cock out and pulses on Alex’s chin and mouth. Some of it lands on his t-shirt.

Alex wipes the come on his chin and makes eye contact with George.

Fondness. That’s what he sees. A little blurry, but it’s an expression of - maybe pride? Alex turns his face and he spits. Semen and saliva right next to his knees, near George’s feet.

George’s expression shifts and he puts his dick away. Alex rocks back on his heels and then pushes himself to his feet. “Worn out already?” he says. He coughs for good measure. George grabs the front of his shirt and pulls him in but then doesn’t touch him at all. There’s no kiss full of teeth; George doesn’t shove him, either. Just keeps him there. They both breathe through their noses and then George moves Alex and Alex takes a step out of his way and George is gone, back inside.

Alex listens to the ocean. He can only see the tide because other condos have better lights than they do. He watches for a moment and then goes back inside. He waits around in the kitchen, drinks some of the orange juice - it’s not like they can take it back. They have two days left. 

He putters around until he gets really bored and then he heads into the bathroom, brushes his teeth, pisses, washes his hands. He can still taste George’s come in his mouth. He likes the way it lingers but grabs the tiny bottle of mouthwash anyway and uses it, swirls it around, gets to the very back of his throat.

Alex gropes his way to the bed and climbs under the sheets. George is facing the window, back to Alex, and Alex curls up behind him, rests his forehead on George’s shoulder. He evens out his breathing, shuts his eyes and waits.

It’s a victory, however small, when George rolls over some ten minutes later, hesitates, and then drapes an arm over Alex’s body. Alex is careful not to move and to keep his breathing steady.

He’s winning.

-

Winning isn’t as fun as he thought. George fucks him in the shower but it’s too rough, it’s not as much fun as he expected it would be. He gets smacked wetly on the ass but that doesn’t interest him, not when he’s focused on not slipping, gripping onto the handrail on the side of the shower, bracing himself against wet tile, one knee on the shelf to stay balanced. Alex doesn’t want to be fucked this way like he’s nothing. He wants to be fucked like he’s special, like he’s interesting, better than anything else Washington’s ever had. That’s how they _were_. Is that too much? Is he asking too much from this guy, this motherfucker whose cock he’s been keeping warm on and off for nearly two years. So Alex deserves to be fucked the way he wants, especially if he’s on a goddamn vacation.

“Hey,” he says sharply, looking at George sitting in the couch in front of the TV. “Why the fuck did you bring me here? To fuck me?”

George glances up at him and doesn’t say anything. Then, with a sort of half shrug, “Yes, essentially.” Alex’s face burns. Alex is about to open his mouth though he’s not entirely sure what he’s ready to say when George cuts him off. “I thought you’d enjoy a few days off. Somewhere isolated, outside of the city. I apologize.” He doesn’t sound like he’s sorry, voice clipped. “I’m sure we can find you a bus to take you back to D.C., if you’d rather leave today.” Then he waves a hand, dismissal, and all the rage floods back into Alex, cold and hot at the same time. Heat rises and his fingers tingle.

“Two years.” That’s better than what he was originally thinking. Alex clenches and unclenches his fist, then shakes his head. His hair is loose. It tickles his shoulders, even with a threadbare t-shirt on. 

“Two years…?” George is coaxing him to continue, curling his fingers in a way Alex can only read as mocking in Alex’s direction.

“Since I - since _we_...” He stops. There’s not a good word for what they’re doing. They aren’t steadily fucking, they’ve never gone on a date before. Preliminary drinks in a hotel lobby, three bar stools away, barely speaking, before fucking until four in the morning don’t count. George has never bothered to take him to dinner, perhaps driven with him four times. Picked him up at the airport when Alex flew to Seattle for a conference, but that was _once_ and Alex had, in truth, practically begged him, and they had ended up in a hotel anyway, so he could barely wring any true affection out of that.

George is still looking at him. His face is still, relentless, and it’s _mean_.

“Two years since we started fucking,” and Alex knows there have been months when they haven’t spoken, haven’t looked at each other; where Alex has hooked up with people at bars and George has had steady dates and public image, “and now you’re taking me on vacation.”

“Yes,” George says. Barely any hesitation. Alex blinks. “Son,” he says and his voice is almost soft, barely bordering on it but it’s not that sharp staccato annoyance, “you’ll have to elaborate.”

Alex bites his tongue. He isn’t completely numb yet, but his brain is firing off in all kinds of directions. Run for it, says one tiny voice he ignores. Another says _doitdoitdoit_ and yet another is begging him to forget any frustrations he may have.

“Mutually assured destruction,” Alex says, flat, and it sounds stupid out loud where it sounds efficient and sharp at the back of his throat. He climbs on top of George before he can react, and George slides a hand under his shirt and grips his waist. “That’s all this is.”

George swallows and nods. His eyes are a little wider now, maybe he’s surprised that Alex has no restraint. He shouldn’t be. _Reckless_ , his mother said, whenever he joked about running late, about physically running to catch a bus. He hadn’t spoken to her since - he counted in his head as a hand rode up his back, fingertips pressed against his spine - early March.

“All it ever was,” Alex says faintly. He wants Washington shirtless now. Naked, maybe, if he can get him that way. Fuck the couch up, so then George’ll owe a ridiculously embarrassing security deposit and those kids will have to sit on a new couch and the parents will know they had to burn this one, which is probably a shitty place to fuck on, there’s too much wicker, _Alex doesn’t care_.

He channels it. This is what he does, it’s what he always does. It builds and builds and he throws himself into work, throws himself into a good fuck. Doesn’t matter who, George just happens to be in his distance, always in his peripheral, they just kept running into each other. George pulls him forward. He grinds down against his dick.

“You’re already hard,” Alex says, then laughs, kissing George, biting his lip. George makes a sound, a controlled kind of growl, and hauls Alex up further. “Get it up, get it up, get it up,” Alex says, his brain still going rapidfire, the words spilling without forethought. “ _Viejo_ , old man, can you still fuck me, you need my mouth first? Who else is gonna keep that cock from going soft, _come_ the _fuck_ on.” He makes a grab for George’s cock but George is stronger if not faster and shoves him.

“Yes,” Alex says, then laughter bursts hard from his chest and George presses a hand to his mouth. It muffles, doesn’t stop his breathing but he gasps anyway, for show. He’s only pinned down by the strength of George’s body but that’s more than enough. He squirms, tries to rub his hips, but George is shaking his head, looking at him all steely-eyed and exhausted and there’s maybe a hint of anger in him too now. The frustrations aren’t masked anymore.

Alex moans and George holds his jaw shut. His teeth click together and Alex arches his back, tries to stretch without pushing George off. If he wanted to he could just say it, say, “Get off me,” say, “Please,” and that would be the end of it.

Tucked away into the parts of each other they don’t recognize, that they don’t care to talk about.

There’s nothing to talk about.

George pushes fingers into Alex’s mouth. He sucks. George rolls him over and pushes Alex’s sweats down his hips and fucks him open with spit-wet fingers. Alex doesn’t bother trying to keep track of the sensations, gasping into the couch. He’s still trapped between cushions and heavy muscles, and he tries to rub his cock against the fabric but it just hurts, too close to being a scrape and the fucking too close to being bruising. It’s everything.

He grinds back, instead.

“Is this all you want?” Washington’s voice isn’t exactly hoarse, but there’s a little quivering too it. Alex can feel his cock through the fabric of expensive jeans against his thigh. He pushes his legs apart further and thick fingers twist inside him. He hisses out another breath. “I can fuck you raw anywhere.”

“Anywhere?” Alex says. It’s supposed to have snark to it, but his voice is wavering too. Yeah, it’s mutual, that’s good at least. George curls his hand inside of him. George spits on his hole and fucks another finger inside the first two. Alex chokes. “That fucking hurts, you asshole.”

He had coaxed George into fisting him, once. It was a miserable failure, Washington being too slow, using too much lube, getting Alex so slick and wide open that panic washed into his chest and stomach. Alex remembers it less for the fact of four fingers and the tip of a thumb in his ass, and more for the fact that he started sobbing during the act, uncontrolled and miserable. George asked him if he needed to stop and he said yes maybe eight times before George managed to slide his hand out of Alex’s body. 

George was quiet that night, not that he wasn’t most nights, and Alex thought about how being gaping open and too vulnerable were terrifying things, that maybe he never wanted to be stretched like that again.

He had asked for it. Still.

George pulls his fingers out suddenly and Alex shudders and grits his teeth. He presses his forehead against one of the pillows and George’s tongue is swiping over his asshole, then he _sucks_ and Alex twitches, fidgets, and finally sobs into the pillow. A dry sound, ripped directly from his throat. He’s pushed himself up onto his elbows now, but his arms are starting to shake, his muscles throbbing.

“Gonna fuck me?” He isn’t sure how he manages to say it. The words feel distant, even as Washington grips his hips and drags him forward. George’s cock slides hard against his thigh and then spreads his ass cheeks without pressing in. It’s just the push and pull of it, friction against the sticky wetness, and Alex knows that neither of them will try, neither of them will go that far. There are moments when Alex thinks it’d be worth it, just to feel _something_ , but now he’s just sparks, he’s already on fire, he doesn’t need to be ripped apart today.

So instead, Alex lets his mind slip. “You’ll have to do better than this to get rid of me,” he hears himself saying. It doesn’t register in his mind, actually, but he keeps on going because George ruts harder against him, slides spit slick, dirty fingers into his hair. George yanks once, tilting Alex’s head back, and Alex just laughs again. “Think you can just _not_ fuck me and get me to shut up?” he pants. “No fucking way, _viejo_ , do better, fuck me ‘til I can’t breathe, ‘til I can’t think of anything but your _dick_ , oh _fuck_.” He lingers on the word as the head catches his hole and pushes slightly past the resistance. He clenches the muscle, just to find out what’ll happen, and George presses teeth into his shoulder and shoves his head back into the pillow. 

“That’s right, that’s right, don’t you dare fucking stop, still hard for me?” He lets out a sharp breath. “Come on, come on.”

George rolls him over. It’s not pretty. Alex grabs his own dick and starts jerking his fist and George climbs over him. Alex looks. Sweaty face, teeth gritted, really wild eyes. It’s working. He’s winning again. He doesn’t have to be miserable. He can focus on endorphins, on whatever fucking else, they’re going home tomorrow anyway, this can still be salvaged.

George still has his jeans on, hanging a little lower so he can have his cock out. George holds it in his hands, strokes, and kneels near Alex’s face. 

“Don’t,” George says through tight teeth, “spit on this floor.”

Alex nods. “I won’t,” he whispers, opens his mouth, sticks his tongue out. He waits until the very last minute, when George shuts his eyes and jerks a little unevenly, to close his own. Last night doesn’t count, and he can’t remember the last time George came on his face, can’t remember the last time it happened with Alex pressed flat on his back like this, if ever. He groans as George shoots, spills long and hard over his cheeks and onto his tongue. Some of it, he’s sure, lands in his hair. It’s hot for a minute. He lets the taste settle on his tongue before George closes his mouth for him. Waits.

Alex opens his eyes and swallows, meeting George’s gaze. There’s come in his eyelash. He blinks hard and only sputters a little when George lets him go.

George sits back and gets to his feet, tucking his cock away. “Jack yourself off,” he says, and Alex laughs again, probably too hard because he’s got come all over his face, and jacks himself hard and fast enough that he doesn’t really have to think much about how humiliated he should be. He arches his back and groans and comes on his own stomach, onto his t-shirt - he doesn’t quite blackout, though the orgasm is pretty high up there on the list. 

He shivers. His back is sweaty. He opens his eyes and George hauls him up, sighs and kisses his mouth. His mouth, which Alex remembers, is probably still dirty with dried come. Alex doesn’t smile but he blinks and turns into it, turns towards George who now brings him to his feet.

“Take a shower,” George says. “Then take a bath, then another shower.”

“What’re you gonna do?” Alex says, leaning into his shoulder. Whatever just happened, the anger is dissipated. Alex isn’t really sure what it’s been replaced by. He’s putty. Pliable, taken apart. 

“Go for a run,” George says. Alex giggles. “I’m serious.”

“I know,” Alex mutters. “That’s what’s so funny.”

“Alexander,” George says, and they step into the hallway, and then into the bathroom. George hands him a towel and Alex looks at himself in the mirror. It’s actually a pretty nice look; he always appreciated the heat in his face after being fucked. He looks alive, comestains and all.

“I hope we didn’t fuck up that loveseat, or whatever. Not big enough to call it a couch.”

He watches George cringe in the mirror and grins. “I’ll take care of it,” he says, folding his arms.

“See ya,” Alex says.

George closes the door as he leaves.

-

Alex sleeps okay that night. He rests his forehead against George’s back, an arm at his waist. They’re both quiet, trading deep breaths back and forth. He doesn’t wake him up, doesn’t try for dick, doesn’t make any sudden moves. They aren’t fragile, they aren’t anything stupid like that, but even now, the mood has changed.

Fight or flight and Alex chose to fight.

He presses his hand against George’s spine, runs his fingers over the notches under his t-shirt.

They’ll check out in the morning, and drive back to D.C.

-

They don’t say much on the drive. It’s comfortable instead of tense, though there’s a lingering that Alex can’t quite place. George lets the radio play, some classic rock station.

“I was fifteen,” he says, looking over at George. They’re stuck in traffic leading back into the city. “When my mom took me to the ocean.”

“Yeah?” George says. It isn’t a deterrent.

“She raised me on Spanish and told me about Puerto Rico but I’d never been. Ah. Beaches. Guess she thought that was enough. We haven’t been back. Don’t think she’s been back, either. Her family...they weren’t happy, you know. Running up north with a kid.”

“Sure,” George agrees. His voice is still soft, even though he isn’t looking at Alex. Alex continues.

“Not as nice of a condo as that, not so close to the ocean, but yeah, we took a week. Saw some sea turtles or whatever, you know?” Alex closes his eyes and leans back against the window. He cracks his neck. 

“It’s a nice place to stay,” George says. “Even if I don’t take advantage of it too often.”

Alex chuckles. “Don’t get your hopes up about me ever taking that much time off again. Shit. I just can’t be stuck in a place like that for more than...twenty-four hours.” He looks at George, licks his lips. “That’s how long you can keep me. No more, no less.”

“Twenty-four hours?” George says idly. “I believe I could convince you to make that a solid forty-eight relatively easily.”

Alex grins. “You can try, he says. “You can definitely try.”


End file.
